An Tet
by Fan of Mikey
Summary: The first time you look at him like that you feel a different kind of fear. You think maybe you've finally gone insane from the withdrawal. Please read the header before proceeding to the fic.


**Title:** An-Tet  
**Rating:** pg13  
**Fandom:** The Dark Tower  
**Disclaimer:** All characters and recognizable settings (and maybe a bit of dialogue) belong to Stephen King. I am in no way earning money or other profit from this fanfic.  
**Char/Pair:** Roland Deschain, Eddie Dean with Susannah Dean and Jake Chambers mentioned in passing. Though it is Eddie's POV.  
**Prompt:** None  
**Spoilers:** For the ENTIRE series. Especially Wolves of The Calla and Song of Susannah.  
**W/C:** 2,327  
**Warnings:** Kisses between men in a non-sexual way. Swearing.  
**Summary:** I know this is probably blasphemous in the eyes of some of you. But all in all it is a very non-sexual relationship. Yes, they kiss. And while that is predominate throughout the fic, it would be a shame if you went through this thinking about only that. I can't even begin to explain how I read Eddie and his relationship with Roland. This fic is only the tip of the ice burg. It is my first The Dark Tower fanfic, and my last if I can help it. I didn't even want to write this one, in all honesty. But sometimes something will grab hold and not let go until it is written down. You really don't even know how sorry I am. It is set in 5 parts. Parts the first and second take place somewhere between The Gunslinger and Drawing of The Three. Part three takes place during Wizard and Glass, part 4 is Wolves of The Calla and part 5 is set during Song of Susannah. I'm not good with dialogue, and I didn't want to butcher Roland anymore than I have, which is why every time he speaks I cut him off. It is unbeta'd. Flames will be ignored.

**I. Kai-Mai (Friend of Ka)**

The first time you look at him like that you feel a different kind of fear. You think maybe you've finally gone insane from the withdrawal.

But no, you know better. Because there had always been something in his eyes that you found fascinating, sobering. So when he turns to you with those bombardiers' eyes and that smile he shares with no one but you- the fact you are the only one with him making no difference- you feel your stomach drop out and you know it isn't the heroin. It is, purely and simply, him.

So you sit up for half the night thinking and listening to him pretend to be asleep. He can never rest when you're awake and you feel a little guilty because he's ill and needs all the sleep he can get, but mostly it makes you the manly side of giddy to have someone care for you like that again. Not since Henry and you were kids had anyone bothered to give a shit. And even then he really didn't. 

"Eddie."

The sudden -softness- of his voice startles you and you hope your voice doesn't crack.

"Yeah?" 

It doesn't. You thank whatever God there is in this world for that small blessing.

"Sleep. I can hear you thinking from over here."

You smile into the night, wishing more than anything you could just flip a switch and clear your mind long enough to catch a ride with the sandman.

"Sorry man, I'll try harder."

A grunt and the crinkle of animal hide as he shifts is your only response as you close your eyes to what you hope is a few hours of peace.

When you wake it is still dark but you can see the sun starting to make its appearance. You make as little noise as possible as you climb off the Earth to your knees. He is still asleep, snoring softly, but you know that if he wakes the moment will be lost, that you'll never work up the nerve to try again.

So there you are on your hands and knees, pine needles and rocks jabbing into your palms, but you don't care. And suddenly you're by his side, his breathing coming in short, hot bursts and you wish he would open his eyes so you can look into them.

And when you press your lips to his you taste ancient civilizations and lobster, wisdom and sweet woody tobacco. Your fear slips away in the three seconds your souls are connected and all you can think is Safe.

**II. Kaven (Persistence of Magic)**

The second time you look at him like that he's lying beneath you soaked to the core from the ocean. And he isn't breathing and you're freaking out because if he dies then you die and you really aren't ready for that shit.

You had woken minutes -hours? Days?- before with a start, almost as if someone had kicked you. Had pried open your eyes to force you to get over yourself for five seconds so you could rescue your savior from the unrelenting water, and you curse yourself and him for not having/having that weird almost if not exactly psychic-like ability to know when someone is in danger.

But you jump up and look around wildly because he isn't there and you're swearing to yourself that when you find him you're going to kill him. Then you hear him laughing and it's maniacal and childlike and something you've never heard before and something you never want to hear again because it scares you. And Eddie Dean isn't supposed to be scared. Not from fucking laughter, anyway. No matter how much it reminds him of his own.

So he's there and he's splashing and laughing and at first you think maybe he's better, maybe he's trying to wash away any traces of the poison that wanted to claim his life, but then the laughter stops and you watch as he dives under a wave. And you stare. And he doesn't come back up. Then you know something's wrong because even old long, tall and ugly can't stay under water that long, even if he is magic. Which you have come to believe he is.

You heard stories when you were a kid about women luring sailors into the water to their death, but you're not sure if that works on lunatics with guns older than God. It's not even a question, though, when you peel off your shirt and shoes and dive into-under the water. The salt stings your throat and for a quick second you taste the fever that is coursing through his veins and you know why he is trying to end it all.

But with his death comes your own and you still have yourself convinced that you'll survive this Ka shit at the end, safe in your own bed in Brooklyn. The water is dark though, as it's night outside, and you're lucky to see your own hands let alone his (lifeless?) body. You reach out anyway and your fingers brush against something slick and soft and you tug, wincing when you realize it's his hair. And you feel yourself wanting to yelp for joy that you found him but you're under water so you don't and besides that's only shit girls do.

You tighten your grasp on his scalp, not even caring if you rip the whole damn patch from his head as long as the two of you breach the surface. And you do and you breathe in so much air you think your lungs will burst. Then you're swimming and you have your arm wrapped around his chest protectively, hoping those mother fucking lobster bastards don't decide to have a late night snack, because that would be just fucking hilarious wouldn't it? 

You reach the sand and he lands on his back as you silently thank Henry for throwing your sorry ass in that pool and you're gonna learn to swim you pussy at the tender age of five.

The you're kneeling beside him alternating pushes and air pushes and air, and you don't even know what you're doing really you just saw it in a movie once. Then he's coughing and choking on the sea till you roll him on his side and the water spills from his lips. You fight back the urge to punch his fucking face in, opting instead to trace your lips over his hoping he won't realize, but not caring if he does. It's just another part of the CPR you tell yourself. And it's okay that your mouth stays there longer than it should because all you can think is Alive.

**III. Can Calah (Angels)**

The third time you look at him like that is solely out of anger because you just want him to shut the fuck up already.

You've spent the last hour screaming at each other about that goddamned tower and your throat is raw. When you speak again the tone comes out pained and even you wince at the sound.

"We're all gonna die. Can't you understand that?" He doesn't flinch, but his usually clear eyes cloud over for half a second and you wonder if what he says is true.

"Yes, Eddie, I can. But you should know by now that it is a sacrifice I am willing to make. Have I not proven that?"

With a wave of his hand he indicates Jake who is sitting between the front wheels of Susannah's chair, his arms rapped around his knees. The tears in his eyes never fall because you are all too fucked-up for crying.

For not the first time you find yourself wanting to bash his skull against something sharp. You can't understand how someone who has pulled you from the edge of death so many times would so willingly fling you through the gates of Hell.

"Because of this tower. This damned tower you don't even know exists!"

"We are _all_ damned, Eddie. If the tower falls, if it doesn't, we all die anyway. But I will not curl up and wait for death if I can save the world."

You can't help but laugh a little, it has to be the most insane shit you'd ever heard in your life. You run your fingers through your hair to keep from reaching out and strangling him. It has gotten longer and your hand comes back slick from the oil of weeks without washing.

"Fuck your tower, Roland. And fuck you."

That is when he flinches and that is when you choose to let all your frustrations out. No words, just action and the kiss is hard and dry but it shuts him up. And before he pulls away, not roughly, you tell yourself, not in disgust, all you can think is Please.

**IV. Ka Has No Heart**

The fourth time you look at him like that is the night the beam snaps. And you feel guilty for having such thoughts but you can't help them as they come. Your life is, after all, no longer in your control. Hasn't been for a long time, if it even ever was.

He finds you easy, you think, because to you he's still magic. Not that you were really hiding. You sit staring out towards Calla Bryn Sturgis. Looking but not really seeing because your mind is somewhere else; is trying desperately and failing to reach out to Susannah. You won't let yourself believe that she will never be in your arms again. His worn boots thump-thump along the porch and you can still smell the smoke from the cigarette he'd smoked hours earlier.

"We will get her back, Eddie."

"You don't know that."

He hunkers near your chair and you feel his eyes searching your face, it heats under his intense gaze and you swear.

"I am your Dinh, Eddie, and you must--"

"I don't care if you're the fucking Dalai Lama! I don't care if you're Jesus Christ himself! If we do not find her and bring her back -alive- then you can bend over and kiss your tower goodbye."

You hope your voice conveys the anger you were going for but you can't tell when you look at him because all you see is caring and understanding. And maybe, if you squint, you can see a trace of smile. But maybe not. 

"Cry pardon, Eddie. I don't mean to make you angry. But this is a matter of life and death for us all. If something had happened -- "

You don't know you're doing it until it's too late and you have him thrust roughly against the house, your fists entangled in his shirt. When your eyes adjust to the closeness you can see tiny drops of spittle on his cheek, but you make no move to wipe them off.

"Don't talk about her like that. You hear me? Don't!"

He is calm, always so damn calm, as you let him go. You want him to fight you back, to scream. To stop looking so fucking tired and defeated.

"You still hate me, Eddie."

It isn't a question but you answer anyway.

"You are my Dinh, Roland."

"So?"

So how is it possible for you to hate someone you love so deeply? You don't know, but it is, and the realization hits you like a sucker punch to the gut. Your breath hitches and for a moment you think you're going to faint. 

Then his arms are around, strong and calloused hands holding tight and you know that he's not only holding you so you don't fall to the ground, he's holding you so you don't go insane. Holding you so you don't leave him.

And when you press your lips to his it is welcomed. It is returned. His grip tightens and in the night of uncertainties all you can think is Home.

**V. Fan-gon (Exiled One)**

The last time you look at him like that there is something in your eyes along the lines of I'm Sorry. But you don't say that. There's no way in fuck you are going to apologize to this man. This person who killed you. Who saved you. Who loved you.

"Eddie."

After all this time the softness in his voice when he speaks your name knots your stomach. And as the tear finally leaks from your eye you wish you could have been less like Henry and more like your brother Roland.

"I'm--"

"Sorry? No you're not, don't you dare lie to me. You did this for your tower, remember? I'm not the last."

You watch as he nods his head and turns to leave but you don't want him to go thinking you're mad at him.

"No. _We_ did this for the tower. That goddamn fucking tower."

It hurts when you talk and you have a flash of memory from what feels like a hundred years ago of the sea. He looks at you with those eyes, red-rimmed and dull. They shouldn't look like that.

"Ya gotta win this fight, Roland. You have to reach that tower. For me."

"I will. It's--"

"Yeah, I know."

You smile a slightly remembering what you first told him what you thought of Ka and where he could stick it. Your vision darkens around the edges a little and it scares you. Death is coming. Eddie Dean isn't supposed to be scared, but he is. He's scared and royally pissed off, but mostly he is just sad.

You look at him as he grasps your fingers with the whole of his left and you plead with your eyes for him to know that he is forgiven. That you love him.

And when he presses his lips against yours you know he heard you. And you're glad because you can go now. You feel his tear hit your cheek, all the fear escaping as you slip away. But before you can go to that clearing at the end of the path, all you can think is Safe.


End file.
